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St
Andrew, Lamas

Lamas is the prettier half of the village of
Buxton. It sits on a hillside north of the Bure, away
from the main road on the other side. The church is
beautifully placed on the banks of the river, down a long
grassy path beside a paddock from the village street. The
horses seemed to be guarding it.

The most
remarkable thing about St Andrew is the extreme degree to
which the chancel weeps - that is to say, is out of
alignment with the nave. This kind of thing is more
common than you might suppose, because chancels and naves
were, until the 14th century at least and often beyond,
built separately, and often on the foundations of an
earlier building. But the chancel here isn't so much
weeping as turning a corner, and it is all the more
surprising to discover that it is the work of a 19th
century rebuilding. Reset in the chancel wall is a
poignant 18th century memorial to John and James Utting,
two young children who died within ten days of each other
in 1747. Interestingly, it gives a phonetic spelling of
the neighbouring village of Hautbois as 'Hobbis'.

Well, it
had to happen sooner or later. I had been cycling since 9
o'clock, and since leaving Worstead station I had visited
17 churches; for the first time, I had come to one that
was locked. Actually, I knew that it would be locked,
because the sign on the gate said so, helpfully
identifying a keyholder. But keyholders are never in on a
Saturday, so I didn't bother. And it seemed entirely
pointless, keeping it locked, because it is no more
remote or vulnerable than any of its neighbours, all of
which I had found open; and besides, the only things of
value here are the heraldic roundels in the windows, and
these might as easily be stolen or vandalised from the
outside as from within, I suppose. Fortunately, Peter
Stephens, one of this site's guardian angels, came up
with some pictures of the inside for us - you can see
them below.

But the
setting is so lovely that I forgave the churchwardens for
their caution immediately. I went and sat on the bench
under the willow on the river bank, and watched the sun
flash on the fast flowing water, a bevy of young
ducklings tumble over each other as their mother rounded
them up, large brown fish in the shallows hanging
languidly just below the surface - and, before I
succumbed completely to Arthur Mee-style sentimentalism,
got my mobile out and made a couple of calls. Odd how
there always seems to be a good signal in the most out of
the way places.